


Tease

by Liu



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M, the one where Ray gets to be a stripper for a mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 14:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12014682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liu/pseuds/Liu
Summary: When Raymond has to become a stripper for a mission, Mick doesn't quite expect his own reaction.





	Tease

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt by samwilde04 on tumblr, for "That was a perfect example of how not to do things" and "Why does anyone have to be naked?"

“Well _that_ was a perfect example of how _not_ to do things,” Sara sighs when they stumble back onto the Waverider. Her clothes are torn and her face is smudged with what looks like ash, Amaya and Nate are both dripping wet, which is an accomplishment considering there is no body of water in a hundred mile radius, and both parts of the Firestorm are looking a bit wild-eyed and harassed.

Mick, exempt from this particular outing due to his prolonged stay under Gideon’s medical supervision (and loudly bitter about it before they went out), doesn’t even bother to hide the smug smirk.

“Told ya the 25th century was something else.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sara waves him off, tiny bits of scorched fabric falling off her arm at the gesture. “Plan B it is.”

A choked-off squeak echoes from the back of the room, where Raymond’s been messing with some wiring, again.

“Do we have to?” Haircut almost sounds pleading, but it’s not gonna do him any good, based on the way Sara’s grinning like a cat who got all the cream. They’ve discussed ‘plan B’ before, and while Raymond has expressed his concerns numerous times, Mick can see the appeal.

Strategic, of course. Purely strategic.

“Oh, come on,” Sara rolls her eyes at Raymond’s puppy eyes. “You’re the only one out of this crew who can pass for a genetically engineered stripper. Amaya, Mick and I have too many scars, Nate would probably fall on his face before he even got on that stage and, no offense, but he does not have your abs. And Jax looks about sixteen.”

“Hey!” Jax pipes up, at the same time that Mick sniggers:

“What about the Professor?”

Which just gets him withering glares from everyone.

“As I was saying,” Sara continues, pointedly ignoring Mick, “you’re the only one of us who can make it work.”

Raymond sighs and gets up from where he’s been crouching for better access to the writing. Mick glances over and silently admits that Sara might have a point – even the simple cargo pants promise that nobody will doubt the authenticity of Haircut’s cover.

Anyone aside from Raymond.

“But why does _anyone_ have to be naked?“ he whines, and Mick is glad to answer before Sara can even take a breath.

“Because these geniuses made sure that security’s gonna be tight. No other way to keep an eye on our guy, Haircut.”

Raymond stares at him like he understands just how much Mick is enjoying this, and then throws his arms in the air with a long-suffering sigh.

“Alright. Just… give me an hour or so.”

“Where are you going?” Sara calls after him as he walks towards the door. He doesn’t turn, but Mick would swear his ears are bright red.

“To watch some tutorials. Believe it or not, they don’t teach pole dancing at MIT.”

…….

“I feel stupid,” Raymond whispers in the dark. Mick turns to him – the only other crew member whose face has not yet been filed into the ‘dangerous, shoot on sight’ list and thus was available to sneak in as a security guard. The backstage is poorly lit, but even so, Mick can see Raymond practically vibrating with nerves. Nothing about his outfit suggests that he’ll be shedding clothes in a minute: in the tac vest and camos, he looks like a military man. Mick is usually not a fan, but on Raymond, it looks weirdly good, accentuating his narrow waist and broad shoulders.

Which are hunched as far forward as the tac vest will allow. Mick gives him a friendly slap between the shoulderblades, which makes Raymond yelp but also straighten up.

“You’re gonna do fine, Haircut. Now go,” he shoves the guy forward when the signal echoes, and watches Ray stumble onto the stage, wide-eyed and clearly terrified. The music starts playing, and Ray glances towards the shadows, but with the spotlights on him, he probably can’t see Mick giving him an encouraging nod.

And then… then the nervous energy that Raymond always exudes melts into something else entirely, something that has Mick swallowing around the sudden dryness in his throat. Normally, Raymond walks like he’s still not completely used to his own size. The man on that stage wearing Haircut’s face is aware of every inch of his body, hips swaying lightly as he makes it to the front. Despite Raymond’s jokes from before, there are no dancing poles, just a well-lit stage and a chair, and Mick’s kinda glad because he’s not sure his heart (and other blood-filled organs) would be able to take it.

There’s still something about Haircut that makes him unmistakably ‘Raymond’, despite the confidence and almost _grace_ of his movements. He dances well, surprisingly well, actually, but the air of ‘shy boy’ hangs around him and the crowd goes wild, the cheers almost drowning out the music. Mick forces himself to tear his eyes away from Raymond for a little while, scanning the crowd for the familiar face of the mob boss they’re stalking – even the man is staring at the stage, eyes tracking Raymond’s movements in a way that makes Mick’s stomach clench.

Meanwhile, Haircut’s making a show out of something as generally unsexy as removing his shoes. The black tactical boots get unlaced excruciatingly slowly, the arch of Raymond’s back offering a fantasy of the guy bent over a table somewhere, with that half-shy, half-calculating look on his face, maybe glancing over his shoulder while Mick- well. By the time Raymond’s done with the damn shoes and gets off that chair with a motion that seems to come straight from his hips, Mick has to adjust himself in his pants. Holy shit, once they’re done here, he’s making Raymond give him a private show if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.  

Mick scowls when Raymond goes down on his knees, allowing the audience to shove banknotes into his waistband. There’s an unmistakable flush in Haircut’s cheeks, but his eyes are shining in the bright lights and it looks like he’s almost enjoying the attention, mesmerized by the crowd going wild over his every move. He makes a mental note to tell Raymond how hot he is – or show him, yeah, Mick’s always preferred actions over words.

That’s maybe why things go a little blurry afterwards; the song ends and Ray hops off the stage, a part of his deal also being entertaining the guests and mingling for a while. Mick watches as their target motions with his hand to call Raymond over: they knew it was a possibility, their target’s tastes taking exactly the route of handsome boy-next-door type which Raymond could be a poster boy for.

However, what none of them, Mick included, could have predicted is the visceral reaction Mick experiences while watching their slimy target slide his slimy hand up Raymond’s thigh, over the round globes of his ass and down to grope-

….

“How the hell did you manage to burn the place down? You didn’t even have your gun!” Sara screams. Mick, a little singed but very smug, adjusts his grip on Raymond’s waist. He’s mostly supporting the man’s weight because Raymond has managed to sprain his ankle while running down those infernal plexiglass stairs barefoot, bullets whizzing past their heads. The mission’s screwed, but Mick can’t find a single fuck to give.

“You’re unbelievable. I’m benching you until further notice!” Sara yells, stalking furiously out of the medbay, no doubt to figure out another horrible plan. Hopefully this one won’t include stripping for assholes like that – Mick will make sure of that.

“This ain’t football!” he calls after her, but he can’t suppress the smirk that tugs at the corners of his mouth. Raymond, arm wrapped around Mick’s shoulders for better support, sighs.

“What happened?” he asks. When Mick turns to him, his face is too damn close. His eyes, for some reason, are still a bit shiny. Mick wonders if someone, somehow, slipped something into Haircut’s drink – if so, he’s gonna go back and torch the place a second time, dammit.

“Sit,” he grumbles and leads Raymond to the single seat that medbay offers. A badly concealed wince tells him that Haircut’s ankle might be worse off than previously thought, and Mick helps him get his feet up without much thought. When he glances up from examining Raymond’s injury, he finds the man giving him an odd look.

“Mick,” he says quietly, “what happened out there? I thought it was going well, and then… then it wasn’t, and you went in all guns blazing – so what happened?”

Mick shifts on his feet, smugness giving way to discomfort in a blink of an eye.

“Gideon’ll take care of you,” he huffs and turns away, but Raymond’s faster and his hand closes around Mick’s wrist before he can… _tactically retreat_.

“Tell me,” Raymond demands. “I almost got shot out there, and a few people _definitely_ got shot when they weren’t supposed to, and we might’ve accidentally screwed up history, well, future, and I’d like to know _why_. What did you see out there?“

“You mean other than that guy molesting you?” Mick snarls before he can think twice, and fuck, there’s a good reason why he usually lets his fists do the talking. Because when he opens his mouth, he occasionally, accidentally admits that he can’t handle the sight of some 25th-century freak groping Raymond like he has every right to do that.

There’s silence, and Raymond’s grip goes a little slack around Mick’s wrist, hand slipping into Mick’s. It would be easy to get away _now_ , but Mick watches Raymond’s fingers slowly lacing into his and suddenly he doesn’t really want to run.

“Mick,” Haircut says, voice all soft and gooey and Mick’s stomach lurches, but it’s not in that usual nauseous way that happens when people do _feelings_ at him. It’s the good kind of lurch, like he wants to throw up a little but also lean down and… and maybe do all the things to Raymond that went through his head while watching the man dance. “Mick, did you do all that to… uh… defend my honor? Because that’s… really old-fashioned and maybe a bit insulting but also it’s… it’s like… you care?”

He says those last two words like they’re going to explode all around them if he’s not careful, and maybe they do, because Mick definitely feels just as dizzy as he normally does when he’s caught in a blast.

“Fuck you,” he mumbles, without any real heat in his voice, and Raymond’s hand tightens around his instead of letting go.

“You can,” Haircut breathes out; Mick’s eyes snap up to his face, and sure thing, Haircut’s already going red, backtracking and stuttering, all wide-eyed and very obviously horrified at what he’d just said. Mick has never seen anything more beautiful in his life. “Not that, I mean! Um. I guess that too, but… later?”

A tentative smile, and a thumb brushing lightly down Mick’s palm, almost tickling against the rough skin there. “I mean… you can care. I… I care, too.”

He doesn’t really know what possesses him to bring their joined hands up and brush a kiss over Raymond’s knuckles, but the giddy laugh it gets him from the other man is worth it.

“So you _are_ old-fashioned, huh? Are you going to properly woo me now?“ Ray smiles, and then his eyes widen: “Just please don’t bring me flowers without telling me first, I really, really have to take some Benadryl or I’ll just ruin the date with my sniffing, okay?”

Following Raymond’s train of thought is like being swept up in a tidal wave, sometimes, but Mick finds that he doesn’t mind at all. They’re both a bit horrible with words, in different ways, so maybe they have at least something in common, this bright, beautiful, smart man and… Mick.

“A date, huh,” he smirks, and watches the color in Raymond’s cheeks deepen.

“I just assumed… I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry, we don’t have to-“

“Let’s get your ankle fixed first. After that show from today, I’m definitely taking you dancing.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://pheuthe.tumblr.com/) :))


End file.
